


the sun'll come out tomorrow

by scheherazades



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Completely AU, F/M, au in the most au sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazades/pseuds/scheherazades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an 'annie' based au, where tessa and scott are orphans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sun'll come out tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea what this is and it's most likely a giant ball of suck bc i wrote it at like 1am. i watched annie again, because i haven't seen it in forever and and i have no idea why that inspired me to write an AU TS orphanage fic but it did, and here it is. don't hate me. brought over from LJ, so if you think you've read it before, you have.

It was a typical Canadian winter, cold and dark and depressing as ever. The winter time was the worst, because the house (should you decide that’s what it was) never got any warmer. Their thin blankets did very little to protect them from the harsh and blustery winds, the storms blowing outside the one window in the large room full of beds side by side, sleeping multiple children in each.

The place was a mess, that’s for sure.

Scott didn’t much remember his old life, but he’s sure it was a hell of a lot better than this. He remembers having his own bed, for one. None of this sharing with two or three other kids bullshit he was subjected to every night. There’d been many a time he’d waken up with a foot to the face, or kicking some other kid in the face / head / neck region, and many a time he’d felt bad, but he learned soon enough feeling bad was a rarity in this place. If they didn’t feel bad, why should he?

God, did he hate it here.

The bitch that ran the place was awful, too. She couldn’t care less about them, or their wellbeing. She fed them, though ‘fed’ was a debatable term, since their options were limited at hot or cold mush. They got two sets of clothes, one they wore until laundry day, and a spare to change into on laundry day. They worked pretty much all day, scrubbing the floors and the stairs and the toilets and just about every god damn surface that could be seen. They were woken at the crack of dawn and worked until the dead of night, and got minimal sleep, though getting any at all would be a miracle in this place.

Scott often wondered how he made it through each day, but he figured it just took some getting used to. He’d been here a good two years now (or so he thinks, he can’t really figure out how much time passes), and while sure, this life sucked, it didn’t seem likely to change any time soon. He’d learned over the time that crying was pointless, putting up a fight was pointless, resisting any sort of instruction was pointless. It just made life a lot harder than it had to be.

Most of the older kids had that mentality figured out now, but there was the younger boys and girls who still cried for their parents at night, who suffered from the lack of sleep and underfeeding, who didn’t quite yet understand that _nobody cared._

Scott almost felt pity for most of them. Almost, because most of the time the crying irritated him to no end and he just wanted to tell them to suck it up, because he had to learn, and so did everybody else here. They’d have to learn, too. It’s a hard life, it sucks, sure, but there was not a thing anybody could do about it.

Nobody was there when you had nightmares, nobody cared if you had a growth spurt, (although the old bitch did care some, only when it related to her interests, when it made you eligible for bigger jobs), nobody cared about anyone.

That was the harsh truth and reality of the situation.

There was one exception to his ‘nobody cares’, mentality.

He looked over from his spot on the window ledge at the tiny seven year old (thankfully) sleeping peacefully (for now). The little girl who had stolen his heart, who made getting up in the mornings worth it, who could put a smile on his face any time of day, who was the one exception to the rule. One Miss Tessa Virtue was easily the smallest little girl the place had, and Scott pitied her.

She hadn’t been here all that long, only a few months, at best. He didn’t know how she got here, or why she was here, but from what he gathered from the older girls, her parents died tragically in a fire, and she was lucky to make it out alive. He wasn’t sure on the details, how she made it out or how she got here, but she was here now, and that was all that mattered. He was almost mad at those girls for gossiping, but it helped to know what happened, sometimes. In her case, he was glad he knew.

She was convinced someone would want her, and the rest of them, someday. _Someone will want us some day, Scotty, I promise, you’ll see._ She’d said, and he sighed and agreed without batting an eyelid. He liked her optimism. It was something pretty much everyone in this dump had given up on, and it was refreshing to see it in her, an innocent seven year old not yet exposed to the true horrors of the world. Scott wished he could keep her that way forever.

He sighed as he stared out of the window, staring at everything, and nothing. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for, but he guessed staring at the people on the streets below would do. He wondered about their stories, what their lives had been like. Probably a hell of a lot better than living in this hole.

He wondered if he’d ever make it out, and whilst he’d never admit it, he dreamed of the day he made it out of here. Maybe that’s why he admired Tessa’s optimism and hopefulness that her parents would come, because it reminded him of the spark of hope he had left that he’d almost lost. Whilst he knew his parents would never come for him, no, they were dead and (probably) buried too, he held onto hope that someday, a nice couple would come along and they wouldn’t want a baby for once: they’d want a scrawny nine year old wise beyond his years, dark haired and reasonably tall.

(He knew it was unlikely, they always went for the babies, but he tried to keep the faith).

His musings were distracted by the whining of what sounded like a small girl. He tried to ignore them at first, focus on his thoughts and his people watching, but they got progressively louder and when he eventually looked over to the direction of the noise, he was horrified to realise it was Tessa making those noises.

She was scared.

He wondered if she was having another nightmare, she got those a lot. He couldn’t blame her, he still did too, sometime; he just hid it well. That’s probably why he never truly sleeps at night, just stares out of the window at the city below, too scared of being judged for his terrors.

But Tessa was different.

She was a tiny, fragile and scared little girl and he felt so awful for her. He stood up and climbed down the pole attached to the wall next to the window, and walked down the aisle between the two rows of beds towards her. Before he knew it, she’d began calling for him, and he rushed to her side, if only to prevent the others waking up. There could be nothing worse than grumpy kids who living on minimal sleep as it is, getting their sleep disrupted.

When he reached her, she held her arms out for him and he sat himself beside her on her bed, one of the only kids to have their own, but mostly because nobody wanted to share with the baby of the group. He didn’t think she was so bad, for a seven year old girl. So he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly and whispering soft reassurances into her hair as she rested up against him.

                “Shh, Tess, it’s okay. It was only a bad dream. Not real, remember?” He kisses her on the side of the head tenderly, stroking soft patterns on her pyjama clad arm. He feels her nod into his chest, and he holds her for a minute more, letting her sobs subside softly on their own. When he thinks she’s done, he wipes her tears and presses a light kiss to her forehead.

He’s not sure what it is that makes him so affectionate with her. He’s not like this with anyone else. But Tessa’s different. Tessa’s special. The seven year old had stolen his heart and he felt compelled to protect her from the world, from the night terrors that haunted her so often, from the unkind and cruel and harsh words of the kids around them.

                “Go back to sleep, Tutu. You’ll feel better tomorrow. Or maybe today, I don’t know what time it is. Just go back to sleep.” He makes a move to get up, but a hand on his wrist stops him from going too far.

                “Don’t leave me, Scottie. I’m scared.” She begs, and his heart breaks at her tone. He wishes she wasn’t subjected to the hell that was life in this god damn orphanage.

                “Okay then. Just for a bit, ‘kay? You got to sleep on your own, you know that.”

                “But I don’t wanna. It’s better when you’re here.”

Scott sighs. How can he refuse her that? She’s something else, he’s sure of it. She has a hold on him that he can’t shake, no matter how hard he tries.

(Not that he’s tried very hard, of course. He doesn’t _really_ want to shake her from him).

                “Okay, come on then. Let’s get you back to sleep.” He grabs her blanket (the thin piece of cotton that it was), and his too, for good measure, seeing as he knows he won’t be needing it tonight, and throws them over her, all the while hugging her tightly, trying to keep her warm.

                “Scottie?” She mumbles quietly, sleep filling her voice.

                “Hmm?”

                “Someone will want me one day, right?”

                “Of course they will, Tutu. You’re going to get out of here someday, I promise. And you’ll get your own room, with warm blankets and a comfy mattress and all the things you deserve. Someone is bound to want you. And if not, then they’re stupid, and when I’m old enough, I’ll get you out of here myself.”

He hoped it wouldn't come to that. Tessa deserved better. She deserved fancy, rich parents, who knew all about art and could speak other languages and would teach her how to dance. She deserved the pretty dresses, the fancy balls; the giant ass house. She deserved the world, and he could only wish someone would see what he saw in the innocent seven year old, and would want to make her their own. Nobody deserved it more than her.   

“Love you.” She mumbles tiredly, almost incoherently.

                “You too, Tessa. Get some sleep.” He kisses her head one more time, and for the next few hours of sleep they’re granted, he watches over her, protecting her from the monsters in her head and the demons of the harsh reality they lived in.

 


End file.
